Monkeyman Fury
by Inudaughter Returns
Summary: Someone writes a comic book about Monkeyman. When the comic book becomes popular, how will Monkeyman cope with being less than superpowered?


**How do I explain this one? Dragon requested I do something involving Monkeyman, and Dragon is very sad he is not the superbest. So this one's for you. Cheer up!**

Arnold opened a fresh package of sugar-laden, grape bubble gum and popped a piece into his mouth. The first few chews of gum were always the best and Arnold savored them as he walked the few steps it would take to carry him to the local comic book store. It was a tiny shop, so narrow it was mere steps deep, and brightened with ancient factory-windows (with its lattice of square blocks) instead of broad windowpanes, but Arnold liked it nonetheless. Stacked into bins with slanted walls were comic books of every color. Monsters, reptiles, muscled men, beautiful women, and silly characters abound as adornment for the thin, glossy books. Arnold would not be able to afford all of the comics here, but he did have enough coins tucked into the pockets of his jeans to afford one book. Yet, he was not the only one here to shop. His best friend Gerald was also here to look at comic books.

"Man, Arnold!" Gerald said reaching up for a comic with a promising cover adorned with a werewolf fighting a giant lizard. "This is the life! No school, no homework, and an entire pocket full of allowance! Makes me glad I did extra chores this week for those extra quarters. There's so much to choose from here!"

Arnold angled an eye upwards at a particular comic book. Then he took it off the shelf. "I think this series might be worth a try. I've heard good things about it."

"Lemme see!" Gerald flipped the magazine wide open for a better look. He grimaced.

"Nah, it's not for me! I think my taste runs a little bit more action-packed. Like this one here!" Gerald pointed to a comic book on which superheroes and robots brawled with yet more robots and super-powered humans wearing tights. Or in one of their cases, wide trousers with hearts on it.

"Don't you have that one already?" Arnold asked.

"Yeah, I do!" Gerald said, placing the magazine back on the shelf. "I'm just waiting for the next issue."

Arnold and Gerald rummaged around in the comic shop. Eventually, they lay their money on the front counter. But as the cashier cashed them out, Gerald spotted a poster tacked below the register that made his jaw drop open and a grin light up his face. He pointed to the poster.

"Look Arnold! I forgot all about that! The comic book convention is coming up!"

"What are the dates?" Arnold asked. Both boys studied the poster, then jumped. They looked at one another, fret within their gaze and a firm frown tugging down their once happy faces.

"The convention started this morning? Ah, man, where were we daydreaming this whole time? If we don't hurry, we'll miss out."

"Look!" Arnold pointed to the poster again. "If we hurry, we can still go today. It doesn't close until evening."

"Great!" Gerald said. "Let's tell our folks, then go. When's the next bus to the city auditorium coming?"

"Ah, I think it'll be under an hour." Arnold said as quickly as he could. "Let's go!"

When one is late, one might have an adrenaline rush that makes one feel as if they could run like a superhero. Arnold and Gerald made good time to the Convention Hall, which was very near to City Hall. As they descended the steps of one of the newer city buses, they could see large, government-owned structures abounding all around them, also a museum and an opera house. Arnold and Gerald walked down the sidewalk past all of these towering edifices to yet another civic structure- The Convention Hall. The convention seemed to be spewing into the gardened yard of the civic building itself with its balloons and costumed entertainers. But before either this building or its gardened seating area, they had to pass through ticket booths with turnstiles attached to them. Arnold and Gerald wend their way through floral planters and concrete cylinders to take their place in line to pay.

Arnold and Gerald paid their entrance fares, then pressed past the turnstiles to enter. They walked past dozens of costumed enthusiasts before they entered the twin glass doors, beyond which was a metal-girded building with a ceiling so far away, one had to squint to see its girders. For today, the floor in the center of the building was lined with many rows of tables. At each, someone sat or stood signing comics for eager fans.

Arnold and Gerald scanned the crowd. They looked for promising posters, too, and Gerald walked to read one of them out loud. But Arnold hardly noticed. He had spotted Phoebe holding up several shopping bags.

"Phoebe?" Arnold asked. "You're here? I didn't know you read comic books."

"No, I don't actually," Phoebe answered politely. "I'm only here because Helga wanted to come. But…" Phoebe put her hand into one of the shopping bags to retrieve a cute plush toy. She held it up for her sweetheart, Gerald to see.

"See?" Phoebe said before hugging the toy to her chest with a fond squish. "I just had to have them for my room."

"Aw, that's sweet!" Gerald grinned with equal cuteness to Phoebe's toy. "Well, if you like them, that's what's important."

"Where's Helga?" Arnold asked, his mind not focused on the direction of their conversation. He stared off into the convention space instead.

"Right here!" Helga appeared carrying a stack of comic books in her arms and dangling a bag off another. "Too bad you didn't get here early, Arnoldo! You missed the door prize!" Helga held up a tote bag emblazoned with characters. A look of regret sprung onto Arnold's face.

"Aw. If you knew about it, you could have invited me, Helga!"

"Me, invite you?" Helga gaped. "Maybe I'll invite you next year, then. But you really should mark your schedule, Arnold."

"We only just heard about it," the boy replied, but without surliness. "But since we're here, now, what's good?" Helga gave Arnold a long and thoughtful look.

The four kids toured the convention hall together. They met up with Harold and Stinky for a brief minute before parting, then Eugene, but not much happened otherwise. That is, until Phoebe decided she needed to sit down to rest on a bench.

"I need to rest my feet from all this walking! Carrying all these plushies is hard," Phoebe squeaked.

"Ah, babe, if you need me, too, I can hold those little 'ol bags for you!" The bags exchanged hands and Gerald sat on the park bench beside Phoebe, one paper bag on each knee. Arnold shifted his feet without much changing where he stood.

"Wait here. I'm going to go get a drink," Arnold said, gesturing a thumb over his shoulder.

"Alright, we'll be here," Gerald spoke for the others as they all took a brief break.

Helga waited behind with Phoebe and Gerald. But Arnold wandered away in the direction of a drink vendor. He joined the queue of the people waiting to buy carbonated lemonade and other things. But Arnold never reached the front of that line. Instead, he stepped out of it when a man he had not expected to see at a comic book convention met his gaze. Arnold stared as he was recognized by that person in turn.

"Monkeyman?!" the boy uttered out loud. There he was. Their strange, slightly off-kilter, but kindly local superhero- Monkeyman.

"That's right! It's me Mon-Mon-Monkeyman!" the man stuttered, his hands laced on the table top. His iconically red cape was patched and the knees of his jeans torn. The tablecloth for his table was used newspaper. He had a stack of comic books printed in black and white. But it was indeed him. Monkeyman.

"What are you doing here?" Arnold asked.

"Ah, Arnold! I decided to record my Mon-Mon-Monkeyman adventures. But things aren't going well. No one is buying my books." Arnold lifted up a book for closer examination. It seemed to be held together with a paperclip and even chewed on by rats. Arnold grimaced, but just the same he dug down into his pocket and held up a paper bill.

"I'll buy one."

"Thanks, Arnold. But you don't need to feel sorry for me. I know my comic books aren't very good."

"Well, they look, um… okay to me! I know I want to read something written by the real Monkeyman!"

"Thanks, Arnold!" Monkeyman said as he accepted the paper bill. Arnold smiled kindly. "But the worst part of it isn't that I'm not selling my books. It's that guy!" Monkeyman pointed a finger down the aisle.

"That guy?" Arnold repeated to show that he had heard.

"Yes, that guy!" Arnold swiveled his head. His eyes grew wide at what he saw. A giant, color, poster cutout of someone as burly as the Vindicator stood, chest puffed out, with cape flying and a bold letter M on his chest. Above a very crowded booth was a wide banner with the words, "The Legend of Monkeyman," written on it.

"That guy!" Monkeyman complained, eyes narrowed. "Not only does he sell more books than me about my own story, me! Monkeyman! But he's mon-mon-monkeying around with fibs! The backstory that the reason I'm Mon-Mon-Monkeyman because I ate a uranium-covered banana and crashed down from another planet is ludicrous! I was born right here in Hillwood!" the man said with affront.

"Well, why don't you tell him that?"

"No, I can't Arnold," Monkeyman said, head lowered as he picked at imaginary lint. "I already tried. He just mon-mon-mon, laughs at me!" the man said miserably, his face crumbling. Arnold's mouth pulled to the side. He grit his jaw in determination.

"I'll talk to him!" Arnold strode off in the direction of the competing booth. He got in the back of the very long line. In another surprise, the drama critic who has put on his school play, "Eugene, Eugene," stood in the line before him.

"You here, too, Arnold?" the drama instructor said. "Excellent choice! The Adventures of Monkeyman may be based on an endemic legend, but it well deserves a five-star review!"

"What are you doing here?" Arnold asked politely.

"I'm here to buy five unopened copies for my PERSONAL collection."

"I thought you reviewed theatre," Arnold stated mildly. In response, the drama teacher held up a battered copy of The Adventures of Monkeyman.

"I do, but I also dabble in other literary reviews in my spare time. I do, LESSER publications on occasion as a favor to a colleague of mine. That is how, in the short of it, I came to be here. How about you, are you also a fan?" Arnold narrowed his eyes.

"I'd say that's… complicated." Arnold waited in line for the drama teacher to buy his five copies then go. Then Arnold moved forward to stand before a nerdy graphic artist with short but scruffy hair, glasses, and a pimply chin with a tiny bit of black beard at the bottom. He wore gray but trendy jeans, a men's bracelet, a blue, sleeveless jacket, and a T-shirt with promotional pop-art. He was young but well-dressed and seemingly secure in himself- the very opposite of Monkeyman.

"Hello, kid. Would you like an autograph?" the artist said with confidence. Arnold frowned.

"No, actually, I'd like to talk to you. My friend Monkeyman would really appreciate it if you stopped printing things that aren't accurate about him. It's kind of a mean thing to do."

"Stop printing? Ha! Listen here, kid. Entertainment AIN'T about being accurate. It's about keeping the reading ENTHRALLED through a rollercoaster ride."

"But you ARE hurting his feelings," Arnold pressed on. "Can't you talk to him and see if you can find a compromise since he is, well the REAL Monkeyman?"

"Not interested, kid," the artist said with a firm shake to his head. "I'm here to take a legend and make it LEGENDARY."

"But you're stretching the truth."

"Hey, hey, get out of here, kid, before I call security." Arnold stomped away in defeat. He returned to Monkeyman's booth.

"I'm sorry, Monkeyman," Arnold apologized. "I tried. But you're right. The guy just won't listen."

"Ah, thank you for trying, Arnold," Monkeyman said sadly. "But you know, there is something else you can do to try to help me. Here, put these on and stand there. You can be my sidekick!"

"Ah, Monkeyman? What's this?" Arnold said looking down at a paper hat with a banana peel in it instead of feathers and a patched green cape.

"It's your costume of course! Now stand there and wave to people!" Arnold gave the two items a grim frown.

"Hey, Arnold!" Helga said as she stomped around the corner with Gerald and Phoebe in her wake a good ten minutes later. "Where the heck did ya go?! We waited, like, FOREVER!"

"Hey man, what are you wearing?" Gerald asked a little more politely. Arnold was wearing the paper cap, his hair slicked back beneath. He also wore the worn green cape covered with patches.

"Pfft! That look's incredible, Arnold," said Helga pointing. "For all the wrong reasons! BWAHAHAHAHA!" Helga broke out into laughter, still pointing a finger in Arnold's direction as she laughed.

"I'm sorry, guys," Arnold stated miserably, "I guess I sort of got sidetracked.

"I'll say!" said Gerald. He stared at Arnold. He held up a little picket sign reading, "Buy Monkeyman, The Comic!"

"Uh, Monkeyman?" Arnold broke politely. "It's been nice helping you, but I've gotta go. My friends are waiting for me."

"Oh. Well, thanks Arnold! I'll see you around."

"Yeah, see ya," Arnold said. With relief, he dumped the costume on Monkeyman's table. Then he walked away, his eyes half-lowered as he struggled to overcome the humiliation of wearing a paper hat with a banana in it.

Arnold went back to his comfortable life of skateboarding, an ordinary kid rolling down the sidewalks. He popped the skateboard up in the air for a brief, gravity defying moment then fell back down to earth with a "chrk-hunk!" as the wheels collided with the earth again and found a new way of spinning. Arnold sped swiftly down the street, but pulled up and did NOT crash this time when he saw a shopping cart with taped to it parked by the side of the street in a place normally reserved for cars. Someone was working on it from underneath. That someone crawled out, duck tape in hand.

"Monkeyman?" Arnold exclaimed. It was not typical for the man to not hide and lurk in alleys. He even lived in one.

"Hello, Arnold!" Monkeyman said with good cheer. "Do you like my new Monkey-Mobile? NEW and IMPROVED!" Arnold looked at the card. Tin cans and some more cardboard had been added to make it look larger.

"Monkeyman, what are you doing?" Arnold asked between lowered eyelids. He held his skateboard under one arm. As part of his explanation, Monkeyman placed a torn copy of The Adventures of Monkeyman into Arnold's hands.

"See, Arnold? I have a reputation to uphold. People expect for my Monkey-Mobile to look big and powerful, like this!" Monkeyman pointed to a page. Arnold stared down at the book with wide eyes. The glossy art of a car with a turbo engine looked nothing like the cardboard covered shopping card, even if Monkeyman had painted it the same color.

"Ah, Monkeyman…" Arnold began. But Monkeyman strode to the rear of his shopping cart.

"Not now, Arnold! I'm going to try my new FLAME-DUST-PIXEL-POWERED engine!" Arnold peered behind the cart. It seemed Monkey-Man had taped a lawnmower to the shopping cart.

"Ah, Monkeyman, I'm not so sure that's a good idea," Arnold tried to warn. But the engine started up and Monkeyman began to mow his way forward down the street. Then the lawnmower sputtered and failed. Monkeyman wrapped on the engine, his fingers cupping his large nose as he studied the mower in befuddlement.

"Ah, Monkeyman why are you doing this?" Arnold tried again.

"I told you Arnold!" the man in torn jeans explained. "I have to look supercool! I have a reputation to protect! I don't want everyone who reads The Adventures of Monkeyman to be disappointed in me if, well, I'm not so spectacular."

"Monkeyman," Arnold said pointing to the comic. "You'll never have Super-Banana-Boomerang Vision," Arnold pointed to a page where the hero was knocking out bad guys just by looking at them.

"Maybe not, Arnold, but I've got these cool glasses. See!" Monkeyman put them on. Some teens passed by at that moment to snicker.

"Poser. Thinks he's all that like Monkeyman."

"Yeah, man!" the other scoffed. After they left Arnold compassionately placed a hand on Monkeyman's arm to comfort the saddened, self-appointed superhero.

"Don't listen to them, Monkeyman."

"No, they're right, Arnold. I can never be half the Mon-Mon-Monkeyman that they, no everyone expects now! There's nothing left for me but to change my name to Mon-Mon-Montgomery and board the next banana boat to Africa."

"Don't you think that's a bit drastic?" Arnold mused. "Surely, you can still stay in Hillwood- um- Montgomery? After all, what about all your friends?"

"Ah, Arnold," said Monkeyman heaving a heavy sigh. "Besides crime-fighting I've led a pretty lonely life. After all, crime-fighting takes up a lot of time! So I've dedicated myself to righting wrong-doing!"

"Well, if you'd consider staying in Hillwood," said Arnold. "You and I could be friends."

"Really?" Monkeyman shook Arnold's hand. The boy smiled.

"Ah, well. I guess I can keep up the superhero crime-fighting going part-time, at least."

"Ah, you go ahead and do that, Monkeyman,"Arnold cracked a smile.

Things seemed to go back to normal- mostly. But odd things kept happening regarding Monkeyman. When Monkeyman chased a few rowdy teens, purloined goods in hand, away from the back alleys near the Shopping District, he ran right by Arnold, carrying a paper shopping bag. Gerald, his fellow shopper for the day, and himself both stared as the man pulled out a megaphone, yelled, "Monkeyman!" then threw confetti over his head before he continued his pursuit of the two delinquents.

"Well, I've seen it," Gerald squinted. "But I refuse to believe it. A Monkeyman sighting."

"Oh, come on, Gerald, how can you deny that? The guy was using a megaphone."

"You do have a point, my friend," Gerald said.

A few days later, Arnold was seated on a park bench at the entrance to Lark Park (eating a snack) when he spotted heard a familiar yell of "Monkeyman!" He looked up from his place on the bench to see Monkeyman fling himself off a two-story shop onto a pile of five, grubby mattresses. Monkeyman bounced, uncomfortable but unharmed, up into the air and off again from a number of springs which jutted out from the top of an very old mattress. His fist punched out into the air, Monkeyman almost flew, then out of velocity, fell straight down onto the sidewalk for a nasty face splat. Arnold squinched his eyes shut in imagined pain. Monkeyman's failed flight must have been quite painful.

"Ooooh!" the red-haired, former-nurse, puppy-deliverer, golfer, bus rider, monkey-admirer, and theatre-going woman said. She clutched her little hand-bag purse nearer to herself as she stared down at the man who had tumbled near her feet. "Are you alright, sir?" Monkeyman sat up and rubbed his head.

"I guess so," he mumbled, embarrassed. Arnold had hurried over to see his friend.

"Monkeyman, what are you doing?" Arnold asked.

"Trying to fly," was Monkeyman's answer.

"I can see that. But WHY are you trying to fly?" Arnold said, a little annoyed by the whole situation.

"Well, Arnold," Monkeyman said, pulling his knees up and resting his chin on them as he wrapped his arms around his knees in a self-comforting gesture. "You see? It's like this. All of my fans expect me to fly like a real superhero! So I wanted to fly at least a little. See?" Again, Arnold saw Monkeyman hold up the comic book. His time, Arnold pulled the book out of Monkeyman's grasp but silently refused to hand it back. He kept it in his hand far from Monkeyman's reach.

"Monkeyman," Arnold said in his disciplining, most-grown-up voice. "I think it's time you and I go and talk to the creator of this comic book. I don't think we can get him to stop writing those comic books, but if we do, you'll see for yourself that even if it's based on fact, the things he writes is just a made-up story. You really shouldn't take it the wrong way as the way to live your life."

"Yeah, Arnold, but it's not just the cool superpowers," Monkeyman stood and relented deeply. "It's about the honor and valor and just... well plain superheroness of Mon-Mon-Monkeyman! His Monkeyman does a better job of being a superhero than I do. He's braver, stronger, and smarter and just can't compete with that!" Arnold blinked, more annoyed than ever.

"Come on!" Arnold said forcefully. He led Monkeyman to another part of Hillwood. A public event was underway in front of a bookstore. Giant, promotional banners had been hung outside the store and on a table reading, "Book signing for The Adventures of Monkeyman."

"Wait here with me," Arnold said. He, too, stood in line to wait to speak with the writer and illustrator of Monkeyman. When a really wide man stepped away from the table, it revealed to that writer both Arnold and Monkeyman cowering behind him.

"Oh not you, Kid!" the man grimaced. "Don't you have someone else to bug? I'm working and you're clearly NOT a fan."

"Actually," Arnold stated as peaceably as possible. "I was hoping you would show Monkeyman here how to draw, well, Monkeyman! I'm sure it's a very difficult process."

The man stared. Then he leaned one hand against the surface of the table and glowered. He ground his teeth together, as if convinced that Arnold and his friend were making fun of him. Then, he whipped out a fresh sheet of paper and laid it down on the tabletop. He began to scrawl on it, a few rapid sketches.

"There, kid!" The man shoved the piece of paper towards Arnold with a snort. Arnold offered the page to Monkeyman.

"I think it's… super," Arnold said, a hint of compassion in his voice. "What do you think Monkeyman?"

"Well, it looks different without all the color," Monkeyman stated, clinging strictly to the factual as was his norm.

"Ah, that's because I have to fill it all in with paint," the graphic artist said. "A full-page spread can take a few hours."

"Really?" Monkeyman asked him, growing calmer. "Why do you spend so much time?"

"Hey, it's a living! Plus it's my talent. Maybe it's my only way of being super."

"Oh, wow, I had no idea," Monkeyman said. The two men stared eye-to-eye with one another. It was clear the two both had one thing in common. Both were insecure about their greatness. Both sought greatness, in different ways. It was a single look that might change one's outlook on a lifetime. But then, the artist waved his hands up in the air and averted his gaze.

"Alright, I have others waiting in line! Please move along! You can always call me, if you want to share ideas for my latest book." He handed a business card to Monkeyman. Arnold smiled up at Monkeyman as they stepped out of the line so the next person could take his turn.

"Wow, that turned out alright!" Arnold said, enthused. "You see, Monkeyman! You and him are super in your own ways! You're…. super crime-fighting and he's a super writer."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Monkeyman said pocketing the card. "I was being a little hard on him, even if he mangles everything up. I was NOT adopted by lemurs, which are not even monkeys, strictly speaking. It was Gibbons. Well, and my Aunt."

"Right," Arnold said. Maybe they'd have a whole, friendly discussion on the details of Monkeyman's past another time. Monkeyman and Arnold walked back through the park. It was an easy, patient stroll between friends. Then, all of a sudden, they heard a girl's yell.

"Help, Help!" Phoebe cried. She pointed to a tree. "My friend's stuck in a tree! Her hair ribbon's caught in the branches!"

"Aw, miffing not again," Helga mumbled, embarrassed to be seen. She sat on a stout branch, her hair ribbon caught in some leafy branches.

"I'll save you!" Monkeyman said with valor. He climbed up the tree trunk with ease, then yanked on the send of Helga's ribbon. It came loose so quickly that the tree branch sprung up forcibly. Helga ducked low of the motion only to unbalance herself. With a wobble, she fell backwards to cling to the thin tree branch by the back of her knees.

"Whoopee," Helga said, her arms folded across her chest as stared at Arnold eye-to-eye, hung upside-down. She then grasped hold of the branch and hoisted herself upright. Helga tucked her arms behind herself with a silent, "harumph!" Then she climbed down.

"You see, Monkeyman?" Arnold beamed. "You saved Helga!"

"Aw that was easy," Monkeyman muttered. "Anybody could do it. It's not like I used superpowers to do it or anything.

"Maybe. But you didn't need superpowers, Monkeyman. The important thing is that you lived up to your ideals to help someone in need. That seems to be a superhero thing to me."

"The superhero creed!" Monkeyman said. He held his fist out and puffed his chest out as he drifted off into a daydream. Then he snapped back to the here and now.

"Thank you, Arnold," Monkeyman said genuinely. "You've helped cheer me up a whole lot! Now whaddya say you and your friends come see my concert?"

"You have a concert?" Arnold asked, genuinely confused.

"Yeah, remember how I told you I was going to go to being superhero part-time? Me and a couple of guys decided to make a band. Do you wanna hear us play?"

"Uh, sure! I'll come listen to your band, Monkeyman!" Arnold said. He cracked a nervous, lopsided grin.

Soon, he, Helga, Phoebe, and a few other kids of his neighborhood they had picked up along the way sat on rubbish bins or stood round a porch in a broad back alley. Local cats ran away with yowel as three people stood on a wooden porch- Stoop Kid, Monkeyman, and someone so hairy it was difficult to see their face.

"Hello, Arnold and welcome to our concert!" Monkeyman announced with timid joy. "This is Stoop Kid and this here is BigFoot." Monkeyman gestured towards the furry man. There did seem to be some sort of resemblance. "And now, the Monkeyman Adventurers! Let's rock!" Monkeyman held a tiny guitar up overhead. Then he began to play, with Stoop Kid on some old, dented cymbals and the furry man playing backup guitar. Arnold watched the three play some very third-rate music.

"It's not the best, but it's not the worst, either," observed Helga for a frowning Arnold. "Ah, well. Care to shake it up?" She posed in a dancing position, her back shoulder rubbed lightly against his as she swayed side to side.

"I guess," Arnold said, abandoning his frown. He made best of the free concert by dancing shoulder to shoulder with his friend. The end.


End file.
